


Into The Grey

by icarus_chained



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abstract, End of the World, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world fell softly, a feather at a time. In the twilight, in the last of the light, an angel and a demon make their choices</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into The Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Very strange, drifting sort of piece. *shrugs*

The world fell softly, a feather at a time. 

Crowley rolled gently, a slow sprawl of limbs against the soft lines of the body next to his, and tucked his face into the curve of an angel's neck. He breathed softly, a little huff that might almost have been a laugh, and felt his lips curve as the angel shivered beneath him.

"Who won, do you think?" Aziraphale asked him quietly, reaching up to wrap one arm more snugly around Crowley's waist, to hug his demon close to him. His eyes were closed, his cheek pressed to Crowley's hair. The world was soft inside his voice. Safe. Golden. They lay in the world's last patch of sun, the last glint of gold in the softly closing grey.

"Don't know," he murmured, nibbling gently at soft skin, pressing quiet, tiny kisses as he passed. The grey crept closer with every kiss, the closing of the day. He held on tight against it. Held it tightly as it passed. "Whoever it was, they'll come get us soon. We'll know then."

"Mmm," the angel hummed, bright and radiant as they drifted, curled in the sunlight as the world crumbled beneath them. The sky was full of feathers, Crowley noted distantly. Little blades of white that tickled as they fell, and covered the two of them in the end of days. Death's cloak, a carpet soft and white. He shuddered, and curled his angel close beneath it.

"Love you," he whispered, so softly. One last little blasphemy, in the twilight. A demon daring to love. Aziraphale smiled, opening his eyes, so softly blue. So quietly bright.

"Always, my dear," the angel answered, fingers reaching up to tangle in Crowley's hair, leaning up to mouth the words across Crowley's cheeks, to whisper them into his skin and across his eyes, to pour them softly into his mouth. This gentle thing, so soft, so bright. The last glimmerings of the sun. Crowley shook against him. Crowley gasped.

"Don't leave," he begged, curling his hands in an angel's wings, trembling beneath the world's ending. The grey feathered across his back, the call tangling in the falling of the world, the threads tugging them towards home. "Don't leave," he whispered, and held as tight as he dared. Held as tight as he could bear. Aziraphale smiled at him. The angel smiled.

"Never," came the soft reply, arms holding him so close, soft, steady hands tracing the sweep of his back, the arc of his wings, trailing sunlight in their wake to keep the end at bay. "Never," Aziraphale said, and tangled their wings together. Held them quietly as one.

Softly, quietly, Crowley felt his heart break. Felt it fall, a feather at a time.

"You have to," he said, curling his head into his angel's chest. Watching his tears pool gently in the hollow of an angel's throat, watching them glisten in the dying of the light. "You have to go, angel. You have to go home." Where the sunlight never faded, and demons couldn't follow. Where all their world had ended. "You have to go," he whispered, and fought to make himself let go. Fought to make himself understand.

Aziraphale touched his cheek. That old, familiar touch, the soft curve of padded flesh and the gentle sweep of a thumb beneath his eye. Crowley shuddered, curved unwilling into his hand, trembled as he let the angel hold him as he would. As he let the angel have him as he willed.

"You have to leave," he said again. A soft crack, the quiet crumbling of the world beneath their feet. His tears slipped softly from his angel's throat, and spilled across the faded Earth. "Angel. You have to leave."

"Never." The sunlight shone in the angel's eyes, that last, soft gleam, as golden as Crowley's own. "Never," Aziraphale whispered, promised, laughed. Holding Crowley close between his hands, holding him free, as the world fell.

"They won't let you stay," the demon said.

"They can't make me leave," the angel answered, with the glimmer of a smile.

"Angel ..." Crowley shook his head, as feathers fell across his cheeks, and drifted in the tracks of tears. "There's nothing left. Go." Soft, too soft, from a heart already broken. "Please go. There's no Heaven here."

His angel smiled. Laughed, the sound spilling bright and dazzling as he moved, as he caught Crowley in his arms and rolled them to the side, rolled Crowley beneath him, shielding him from the fall of night, and the endless creeping of the grey. Crowley let him, fell with him, a tangle of trusting limbs, a spill of surrender from a sighing heart. Crowley went with him, fell beneath an angel's hand, and let himself lie open as he looked up into blue eyes, and the last touch of light.

"There's no Heaven anywhere else," Aziraphale told him softly, and leaned down to kiss away his tears. "Nowhere else, my dear."

A noise spilled from Crowley's throat, a wrung cry of pain, and he fisted his hands at his angel's back, clenched them tight in the fall of feathers, soft as snow. He shook, shuddered against the soft body curled above him, tightened his hands and the tangle of their wings, clung with all he had, begged himself to let go. Begged the angel to let him.

"Don't _tempt_ me," he pleaded, golden eyes screwed in pain. "Angel, please, do not tempt me."

"Never, my dear," the angel said, and there was something laughing in the brightness of his eyes, some radiant, razored thing that tore open the demon's heart, that tore open the ending of the world, and spilled itself gleaming into the gloom, spread itself shining into the dark.

"Please," Crowley whispered. "Angel, please." The world had ended. He could not bear to love this deep, when all the world had ended. He could not bear to let this go. 

"I love you," the angel said. No mercy in the tenderness of his touch, no pity in the depthless brightness of his eyes. No fear. "Always, Crowley. I love you. My Heaven is here."

"Don't go," the demon whispered, broken and undone, and fallen beneath an angel's hand. Soft as the fall of feathers, as the ending of the world. "Don't go," Crowley said, and closed his eyes as the angel kissed him soft and deep, closed his eyes against the falling of the light.

"Never," Aziraphale promised, pulling Death's feathered cloak about their heads, their sunlight cupped against his chest, where no other could touch, and pressed his lips softly home. Pressed his demon to himself, pressed Crowley broken to his chest, and curled them both into the grey.

The world fell softly, a feather at a time. Drifting, soft as sunlight, they fell with it, and never noticed they were caught. Chest to chest, mouth to mouth, heart and breath entwined, they never felt as they were gathered, and brought home.

Their Heaven lay already, found and caught between them, in the trembling of their limbs and the brightness of their eyes, and no more did they need.

Never. Always. And so.


End file.
